Symbol
by MollyMonster
Summary: When Matt Murdock asked Melvin Potter to make him a body armor suit, he said he wanted it to be a symbol. He never told Melvin what the suit symbolized.


"You want me to make you a suit like Mr. Fisk's?"

Matthew Murdock shook his head at Melvin Potter's question, knowing the man was watching him intently. "No," he said. He crinkled his nose. "Not that."

"Then what do you want me to make?"

Oh, how to describe that. How could Matt possibly explain to Melvin exactly what he wanted, and why it was so important that it be that way? All of his childhood, all culminating in a simple piece of body armor. And Matt had no idea how to describe that armor.

 _Matt turned his head towards the package that his father was unwrapping on the table. "Is that it?" he asked._

" _Yep." Jack Murdock ripped off the paper, and Matt grinned in excitement._

" _What's it look like?" he asked._

" _Red." His father laughed. "It's really red."_

Matt wriggled his fingers inside his gloves, remembering tracing the words 'Attling Jack Murdock. He could remember how they'd felt under his fingers, and though he'd never seen the red of that outfit, he'd spent many nights imagining it.

" _My dad, he used to come to this church when I was a kid. He was a fighter. Old school; boxer. Lost more than he won with a 24-31 record, but he could take a punch. Jesus, he could take a punch." Matt let out a short laugh of pride at Battling Jack Murdock._

" _Language," warned the priest._

" _Sorry Father." Matt sighed to himself before continuing._

" _The guys he went up against, they used to say it was like hitting oak. When he was outmatched my dad's strategy was to let them hit him till they broke their hand. He never got knocked out, my dad. Knocked down, sure, but he uh, he always got back up. He was always on his feet when he lost._

" _Every now and then though- every now and then he'd get hit and uh, something inside of him would snap." Matt's sightless eyes grew dark in the dim light of the confession chamber. He was now beginning to talk about something he'd never spoken to anyone about; not even Foggy. Something that he was recognizing in himself more and more these days._

" _My grandmother, she was the real Catholic. Fear of god ran deep; you'd have liked her. She used to say 'be careful of the Murdock boys; they got the devil in 'em.'" Matt paused briefly before continuing. "And you'd see it sometimes, in the ring. My dad's eyes, they would go dead, and he'd walk forward real slow, hands at his sides like he wasn't afraid of anything._ _And the other guy, he'd see that look and he'd try to get away from him. Nah." Matt let out a small chuckle as he remembered the matches he'd watched on TV before he'd lost his sight. He still wasn't sure if the sight of his father in such a state caused more unsettlement in his stomach or pride. "My dad, he'd catch him and trap him in the corner. Let the devil out."_

Let the devil out.

Matt felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he turned his attention back to Melvin. "I want you to make me a symbol."

* * *

It was several weeks later when Fisk was arrested- and promptly escaped. Matt rushed home, tapping his fingers impatiently on the taxi cab door as it barreled through the streets. Then he tossed money at the driver and bolted for the entrance to his building, almost forgetting to swing his cane back and forth in front of him.

He quickly donned his black suit, pulling his mask over his face as he wrenched open the fire escape. From there he jumped and flipped his way over the roofs until he reached Melvin Potter's workshop.

Melvin was waiting for him. It was hard to miss the fiasco occurring, and Melvin must have known it was only a matter of time before Matt came asking for his suit. Even as Matt walked in the garage door, which had been left open for him, Melvin picked a box up off the counter and slowly began walking across the room.

"The black parts," he said, "will give you the most protection. Might stop a bullet. The red parts not so much. Might stop a knife, depending on the angle; might not."

Matt nodded as the box was set down on the table. He tugged off one of his gloves and reached out, running his fingers along the suit. He could feel Melvin watching him, and Matt offered a smile. "It'll do just nicely," he assured.

He started to close the box- it was his box after all- so he could take it somewhere private to change, but Melvin caught the lid.

"And what about Betsy?" Melvin asked. "Is she gonna be safe now?"

Mat nodded. "You've kept your word, Melvin. I'm going to keep mine."

Slowly Melvin nodded, releasing the lid. It shut with a loud clang, and Matt gingerly picked up the box and turned, starting out of the small warehouse. Time to go fight Fisk. Time to end things once and for all.

" _Come on Matty." Jack Murdock pushed Matt's braille book closer to him. "Get to work."_


End file.
